At the Core
by D Gelyn
Summary: AU. Neku is not depressed; he is simply exhausted to his limit- tired of living in a world of people he cannot begin to comprehend. As fate would have it, Neku meets Joshua, a boy his age who hides behind a bright smile and sharp wit but is truly just as alone. This is a chronicle of their journey, through friendship and into something far stronger.
1. November, December, January

**Author: **D. Gelyn

**Rating: **Fic will eventually be rated Light M, but this first chapter is probably K

**Characters:** JoshuaXNeku  
**  
Warnings: **AU. This fic will be rated M in a few chapters for Yaoi (although it will never be extremely explicit) and mild blood/violence. You have been warned.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own The World Ends with You

**Summary: **AU. Neku is not depressed; he is simply exhausted to his limit- tired of living in a world of people he cannot begin to comprehend. As fate would have it, Neku meets Joshua, a boy his age who hides behind a bright smile and sharp wit but is truly just as alone and lost. This is a chronicle of their journey, through friendship and into something far stronger.

**AN:** This is one of the many JoshuaXNeku drabbles I have been working on, except this one I managed to harness into a coherent fic once I gathered my thoughts. As you can probably see, it's divided into months, with a short scene from each. Chapters will most likely cover 2-3 months depending on length. Unfortunately this fic will take a backseat to schoolwork in the coming semester, so I can't be entirely certain how often I will be able to update. Let me know what you think!

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**At the Core**

* * *

**November.**

Neku stands before a wall of graffiti, contemplating the swirling designs, reminiscent of a freedom he will never touch. A frigid wind blows through him, tearing at his clothes and searing his very bones, but he does nothing to protect himself from the harsh breeze. He can feel the steady approach of winter, heavy in the air. Another year is drawing to a close, and not a single thing has changed from the year before. Time passes in meaningless whorls, and as fall casts its dying rays, Neku finds himself wishing he could fade with the autumn, and follow winter's path into a world of senseless gray.

His fingernails scrape against the wall before him, as if to grasp on to one final strand of hope. But solid concrete will not be molded by human hands, and all Neku manages is to rub the flesh of his fingertips raw. He ignores the sting of broken skin, knowing soon it will all disappear.

* * *

**December.**

He trips twice again today, falling and grazing his palms on the rough surfaces with which he collides. As the days grow shorter, the nights longer and intensely colder, Neku's concentration wanes. His mind is afloat, somewhere in a far off place not a soul can touch. His heart too, has journeyed with the withering season, becoming almost unbearably heavy within his chest.

And Neku wants, more than anything else to be free of all his burdens- for life chains him to the ground and mocks him with the clouds drifting just out of reach. He's ready to rip away the bindings and find solace- something meaningful in the endless expanse of open cerulean sky.

* * *

**January.**

It's the first day of the new year, and the city for once sleeps, all of its inhabitants exhausted in the early morning after their night of jubilant celebration. Neku sneers, disgusted by the falsity, the blind eyes of a crowd that refuses to set themselves up against the stars and recognize how small, how unimportant they truly are. He wants nothing more than to shake them from that dream.

And so Neku finds himself once more, standing near the towering wall of graffiti that has so incensed his soul and mind into abrupt action. He nods at the colossal portrayal of all the world's well-meant lies, a silent salute and farewell.

Brushing vibrant orange hair out of determined blue eyes, Neku grasps the cold metal bars of the fire escape set into ancient crumbling brick. He climbs, each whisper of cloth against his skin and creak of steel reminding him of his purpose, spurring him onwards. At the top, he does not spare even a moment to glance around; he strides resolutely to the very edge, peering over the side at the steep drop that will surely send him tumbling into the embrace of loving darkness and sweet relief at last.

He gazes out, eyes sparking with a bare sliver of amusement before flickering back to stony withdrawal. He observes the swells of the city, the horrid man-made scars on the surface of the earth that had mothered them all.

Neku feels cold. A freezing breath that pours deeper than the wind can reach. He gazes scornfully at the city, slumbering peacefully, ignorant to its foundation of lies, which will certainly one day disintegrate beneath them.

Neku will have no part in that fall. He has decided to choose his own descent

Ocean eyes blazing with the desperate embers of life's stuttering flame, Neku spreads his arms at his sides, as if to embrace the world. For although it has not been kind, the earth was his beginning and - as all things in life must make a full revolution- will likewise be his end. It is only appropriate, he believes, to return the life he has borrowed to its maker.

He leans forward, ready to gain his freedom at last

Soft laughter, so gentle Neku almost mistakes it for another brush of icy wind, chimes and swirls in the air behind him.

Instantly Neku spins, sneakered feet nearly loosing traction on the rooftop and sending him plummeting. But Neku has no lust for death at the moment, his thoughts of freedom and living by his own will interrupted, if only for the time being, by the eerily echoing laughter.

Regaining his balance, Neku searches for the source of that distracting sound.  
And not twenty paces away, perched on the opposite side of the flat rooftop, laughing merrily, is an angel.

Neku can hardly contain his gasp, and his stumble, balance overcome by disbelief.

Realization comes like ice water trailing down his spine.

He is dead. It's the only explanation. He must have already thrown himself from the building's ledge, and here was his otherworldly escort to whatever destination awaits.

Neku glances swiftly at the ground far below, expecting to see his own grotesquely broken frame. His eyebrows furrow slightly in confusion when he notices nothing astray, not a hint of blood marking the street multiple stories down.

"Well, are you going to jump or not?"

Neku's attention is caught once more by the ethereal being who sits, one slim leg crossed over the other, on the rooftop's westward ledge, pure white light pouring from his skin. He is the most beautiful boy-no, he is the most beautiful being Neku has ever seen.

But now, as the adrenaline that comes with imminent death begins to fade, and Neku's irregular heart beat calms to a smooth pace, the figure before him appears less unearthly.

As the boy swings his legs apart and leaps onto the concrete rooftop, the light that had once reflected gloriously off his skin vanishes, and Neku realizes with a sinking heart that he must be losing his mind

The boy is ordinary.

Just as human and undoubtedly flawed as all the sightless beings Neku despises- the ones he longs to escape from.

Neku glares as the fair haired boy approaches, his teeth grinding, a growl building steadily in his lungs.

"What are you doing up here?" He manages, almost civil if not for the frigid tone and slight hiss at the end.

The boy tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear, and Neku notices that it is a strange mixture of hues- not quite golden enough to be blond, too light to pass as gray, but too colorful to be white.

"Watching you of course," the flaxen haired youth responds eloquently, his motions entirely too graceful as he tucks his hands into the pockets of his dark-washed jeans. His eyes flash with silent laughter as he meets Neku's gaze. "And may I inquire as to what _you_ are doing up here, on top of a roof, looking as if you're teaching yourself to fly on the first day of this marvelous year?"

Neku's blue eyes narrow a fraction beneath bright orange fringe. "I think my intent is fairly obvious," he says shortly, turning back to gaze once again down upon the earth that beckons to him with open arms, promising solace and sleep.

The boy laughs. Just as softly and cheerfully as before- and Neku's thoughts are jarred again, his mind ripped from his purpose. He's torn, eyes flickering back despite himself to stare at the figure leaning casually against an air conditioning unit that had long been out of use.

"Yes you're right, how silly of me," the boy says, flashing a grin in Neku's direction. He taps his chin in mock thoughtfulness, "I suppose the better question is _why_ are you here?"

Neku is frozen by those words, and against his conscious will, finds truth falling from his lips. He ponders absently if this boy could actually be some creature of divine origin- so easily prying honesty from Neku's normally firmly sealed lips. "I'm not free," he says simply. "And I won't be so long as I remain in this place." He waves a hand vaguely at the maze of city streets and towering buildings behind him.

Across from Neku, the pale-haired boy shuffles his feet and kicks distractedly at a few pieces of rubble that litter the rooftop, but his expression is thoughtful, and he considers Neku with a gaze that reflects both respect and disgust.

"Death is the only thing you control in life, right?" he says, voice somewhat flatter, smile dwindling to a faint smirk. But after a pause punctuated only by the sound of the two individuals breathing calmly, the boy's wicked grin returns. "Would you at least see the first night of the new year?" He pulls a single hand from the depths of his pocket, looking almost as if he wants to reach out, but the long fingers merely curl against his thigh. "Return tomorrow if you must, but give tonight a chance."

Neku wavers where he stands, poised on the edge of freedom, the soundless oblivion he has yearned for, but suddenly he is uncertain whether to proceed. The ground abruptly seems so far away.

And the boy with beautiful eyes is much closer.

"Hey, at least tell me your name," the boy says with a sigh, brushing that same wisp of hair out of his eyes, seeming unable to tame the gently curling strands.

Neku glares.

The violet eyed youth merely shrugs. "That way I'll be able to identify your mangled corpse for the police. Make their job easier, you know?"

Neku's eyebrows rise; he can't help but be somewhat disturbed by the mention of his mutilated remains while he is yet undamaged by the concrete deathbed far below. Nonetheless, he finds no arguable flaw in the boy's logic, so he mutters a monotone introduction into his high collar, burrowing beneath the tall folds.

"I'm Neku. Neku Sakuraba," he bites out through gritted teeth, feeling the beginnings of a migraine pulsing in his brow- certainly a result of conversing with this abnormal boy. Out of reflex, built by years of bland and repetitive communication, he asks, "what's yours?"

The boy's grin brightens to almost blinding levels. "My name is Yoshiya Kiryu, but you can call me Joshua." He mulls over his words for a moment, beaming at nothing in particular. "Or Josh I suppose, whichever you prefer."

And Neku realizes in that instant his earlier assumption had been entirely false. This boy of eternal merriment is anything but ordinary. Maybe- just maybe, someone like this can understand. Understand the beauty in the vivid strokes of graffiti lining countless alleyways, and the hypocrisy of a world both blind a deaf. Perhaps this stranger can see, where most cannot, the need for liberation, the struggle to remain afloat in a society that slowly sinks, drowning itself in fatal falsehoods.

Neku, who has never been particularly fond of his fellow man due to his inability to comprehend the thoughts and feelings of others, is at a loss faced with this new sensation- and this boy who laughs at everything and nothing at all.

He can't help but be intrigued by that smile, and the cheerful eyes that flash pale violet in faint morning sunlight.

"Joshua," Neku says, repeating the foreign name delicately as he steps away from the rooftop's ledge.


	2. February

**AN: **This chapter only covers one month, but it's longer than the past two, and I wanted to update since I have a paper I'll have to work on next weekend. On another note, I always took Neku to be an artsy kid, and well, somehow it became a part of my TWEWY head-cannon. Enjoy!

* * *

**At the Core**

* * *

**February.**

"A big lumpy triangle," Neku says, glancing up briefly and with derisive disinterest from the drawing gradually taking shape on the notepad balanced in his lap. He has been torn momentarily from his hasty sketching by Joshua's pestering questions.

"What do you think this one looks like?" The fair-haired boy would ask energetically, pointing at a passing array of clouds.

Though somewhat amused by Joshua's excitement, Neku is becoming increasingly annoyed by the other boy, who seems incapable of withholding his incessant queries and never seems to be satisfied with the blue-eyed teen's indifferent responses.

Neku hears a soft "tch" and glances over at the grey-blond haired boy lounging on his chosen bench just outside the back entrance of WildKat Cafe.

Upon their arrival, Joshua had opted to lie back languidly on the wooden structure and consequently take up the entire length of it, leaving no room for Neku to slide in beside him. Not that the orange-haired youth particularly minded, he had merely taken a seat across from the other, leaning his back against the brick establishment.

In the weeks since their meeting, the two boys had hardly gone a day without each other's company. Joshua always seemed to know how and where to find Neku, catching him completely off guard in many instances.

Following the third of these unexpected encounters, Joshua had scribbled his phone number in black ink on Neku's open palm, and afterwards their daily engagements had become more regular (and less of a surprise on Neku's part).

Their most common place of meeting was the WildKat Cafe, as Joshua apparently had some sort of mutual friendship with the shop's owner, and was often able to con the older man out of a few free coffees. This tired looking man -known by Joshua as Mr. H, appeared not to mind if the flaxen-haired teenager spent an entire day lazing about on one of the cafe's benches.

And there he is now, pointing out ridiculous shapes in the sky, his chin tilted back and fair hair feathered out around his head in a tumult of grey and gold curls.

Neku merely watches from his seat on the cold concrete, pencil in hand and brushing over a sheet that slowly fills with graphite lines. He responds to Joshua's questions vaguely, his concentration drawn away by a world of imagination and dreams transferred by his hand onto an open page.

He hardly listens as Joshua insists that the "lumpy triangle" actually looks like a giraffe.

"If you're an artist shouldn't you be a little more creative?"

Neku's ears perk up at that, and he lifts his eyes from the pad of paper long enough to glare at the other boy. "I don't need to be able to see an elephant in a bunch of condensed water in the sky to draw."

"A giraffe Neku! It looks like a giraffe! Geez, you never pay attention to anything else once you start drawing."

Neku ignores Joshua and returns to his sketch, intent on shrugging off the other's senseless chatter.

Well, that is the plan, until seconds later when he is interrupted by a whisper in his ear. "What are you working on so avidly anyways?"

Neku squeaks in a rather undignified manner and nearly leaps to his feet, scrubbing at his ear with his fist in an attempt to get rid of the odd tingling sensation.

Joshua takes this opportunity to slide the notebook from the blue-eyed boy's fingers and flip through the slightly smudged pages.

Violet eyes widen in wonder, teasing smile leaving flushed lips as Joshua examines each sheet, somewhat stunned by the obvious talent of his companion. "Wow Neku~" he says after a moment, eyes still glued to the compilation of detailed sketches in his hands, signature smirk once more curling his lips. "I never realized you were this good. Why didn't you ever show me?"

Finally noticing the disappearance of his sketch pad, Neku snatches the book from Joshua's loose grip and clutches it too his chest.

"Nothing, no reason. I mean-" Neku mutters, before glancing down at the top page, which shows a magnificently accurate depiction of a young girl reaching out to run her fingers through the feathers of a content looking swan.

He flips through the pages, cursing Joshua and his meddling as he searches for the drawing he had been working on only minutes before.

After a few moments of shuffling papers, Neku finds said piece, which portrays in life-like precision a youthful male riding a wave on the back of an enormous manta ray, his arms outstretched and expression blissful.

Neku flops back onto the concrete, lifting his pencil and preparing to darken the ray's expansive underside.

He's interrupted by Joshua's ecstatic twirling before him.

"Neku draw me! Draw me!" his arms are flung out at his sides as he spins, much like the man in Neku's picture.

Joshua falls back onto the bench which he has seemingly claimed as his own, his faux fur-trimmed jacket slipping off his right shoulder. He poses elegantly, stretched out and supported by the wooden frame beneath him, one hand resting against his brow and button-down shirt riding up slightly to expose a bare hint of smooth skin. His hair spills over the bench's edge, only inches away from brushing the ground.

He's beautiful. Just a beautiful as the day the two boys met, when, lit from behind by an early sun, Joshua had held the likeness of an angel. Neku's fingers clench around his pencil, longing to draw that flawless figure.

"Hell no," Neku says, and he nearly snaps his writing tool in two with the force it takes to deny himself.

"Why not?" Joshua asks, turning his head towards Neku, but not rising from his swooning position.

"I don't draw from life," Neku lies quickly.

"Really?" Joshua asks, blinking in false innocence. "Because mister stingray man looks suspiciously like that guy playing guitar on the bridge earlier."

Neku flushes in disbelief and mild embarrassment.

"And the girl with the swan, wasn't she shopping in Mus Rattus with her mother when we passed the 104 building?"

Neku cringes, knowing he's been caught.

"But really that's amazing, Neku. That you can remember someone's face so clearly, I mean, and draw it without fault."

Joshua's eyes shimmer softly with some nameless emotion as he gazes at Neku once more. "Won't you draw me too? A favor for a friend?"

Neku is shocked into silence by that single word. Friend. No one has ever called him that before.

And Neku quite likes the sound of it.

He flips to a blank page in his notebook, heart thundering in his chest as he lifts pencil to paper once more. "Fine," he says and begins to draw.

There's something strangely intimate about this act, Neku thinks, as he examines every curve of Joshua's slim figure and traces it dutifully onto the page. And not only because he's forced to copy each smooth contour of the other boy's body, but also as a result of the near sensuality of Joshua's pose.

The flaxen-haired boy is sprawled across the bench, with jean clad thighs comfortably parted, one arm slung across his brow and the other dangling limply, fingertips brushing the ground. With every minuscule shift, Joshua's blue button down gradually slides higher to shamelessly reveal more pale flesh, and his violet eyes shine with amusement and something more that Neku can't quite place, but unnerves him to no end. Compliant and docile, with lips parted and shimmering hair framing a beautiful and calm face, Joshua is an image of wanton supplication.

Neku is having a hard time keeping his hands from shaking.

But he manages, even as he illustrates the gentle curves of Joshua's hips and thighs.

When Neku adds the finishing touches to his sketch- the slight unrecognizable sparkle in Joshua's eyes, and the loose waves of his hair- the blue-eyed artist is abruptly struck by inspiration.  
Promptly but carefully, Neku twirls his pencil between his fingers and erases the bench he had only just finished shading.

With short, even strokes beginning at Joshua's shoulders, Neku sketches a pair of half-unfurled wings. Filling in the details with care, Neku replaces the erased lines of the bench with a light range of shading.

When he is done, Neku sets his pencil on the rough concrete beside him and runs a quivering hand through his wild orange spikes.

He gazes at the completed image, of Joshua as he had appeared weeks before on some dismal rooftop surrounded by a sleeping city. And the picture is magnificent, even by Neku's standards, showing a beautiful angel waking from a fitful slumber, reclining in the embrace of a cluster of downy clouds.

"Are you done?" Joshua asks, noticing Neku drop his pencil onto the concrete, and he rises into a sitting position, crossing his legs. He gazes expectantly at the orange-haired boy, and when no answer is forthcoming he sighs and stands, tugging his button down back into place before striding over to Neku's side.

Neku is having second thoughts as he watches Joshua approach. Drawing Joshua as an angel- that is open to multiple misinterpretations, some perhaps more correct than Neku will ever admit to himself, and much less Joshua. Not to mention the winged being's expression- which is maybe a tad too sensual, and carries even more questionable implications.

But before Neku can make the decision to snap his sketchbook shut and huddle it against his chest, or stuff it unceremoniously into his unzipped duffle bag, Joshua removes it from his grasp.

Neku blanches at his empty hands, gaze slowly trailing up to where the notepad now resides- cradled in Joshua's long fingers.

Joshua is silent, his eyes calm while he scans the page, but Neku easily detects that subtle shimmer of astonishment.

"Amazing, Neku," Joshua finally says in a hushed voice, and he hands the drawing pad back to his orange-haired companion.

Neku wordlessly reaches out to take the book, his embarrassment fading. But as he pulls the papers from Joshua's outstretched hands, their warm fingertips brush and linger- for just a moment too long to pass as accidental.


	3. March

**At the Core**

* * *

**March.**

"Please tell me you're not actually going to buy that," Neku says, eyeing Joshua's colorful ensemble.

The fair-haired boy just laughs airily in response and twirls before the full-length mirror, hips swaying in time with some far-off melody, thighs outlined by bright blue skin-tight jeans.

Joshua's long fingers pluck at the hem of a deep purple jacket that Neku is almost certain came directly out of the girl's department- what with all the useless ruffles. The orange-haired boy is thankful, however, that Joshua selected the ostentatious layer, as it covers the indecent amount of pale skin exposed by the navy tank-top beneath.

Neku isn't entirely sure how he became ensnared in this situation – trapped in a cramped dressing room while his friend slips into countless elegant jackets that Neku doesn't believe for a second are all actually made for men. But Joshua seems resolved to try on the store's whole selection of discount dress coats, telling Neku that it's best to plan ahead for the rest of the year in spring, and really he ought to do some shopping too.

Of course the orange-haired teen had originally refused the bargain hunting invitation, but an hour later found him seated outside of a small dressing room in the D+B store located in the 104 building regardless. Five minutes after that, the changing room door swung inward and Joshua, dressed only in the flimsy navy tank-top and snug jeans, peered out, beckoning for Neku to join him inside. Neku declined the offer immediately, turning a fair shade of pink behind his cowl. A small hand had wrapped around his arm instantly, and despite his protests, the orange-haired teen was within moments confined in the dressing room's brightly lit interior, doomed to witness his flaxen-haired friend tug on expensive-looking jackets for an indeterminable amount of time.

But Neku does, and with a surprising lack of objections. From beneath jagged orange bangs, Neku watches Joshua display an effortlessly perfect figure, turning this way and that before the mirror as he examines each garment.

The violet-eyed boy has designated two piles on the floor, one holding the apparel Joshua deems purchasable, and the other given the title "HC", or "hideous crap", as the boy had so eloquently put it when explaining the system to Neku. Each outfit, after being considered for some time is shed and slung into one of the two mounds of clothing, with the HC pile towering over the pitifully insignificant stack of jackets which meet Joshua's standards.

After observing his friend for quite a while, Neku has deciphered a means for predicting which pile each delicately pleated garment will be discarded into. Every outfit is given an equal chance once it has been buttoned, zipped, clasped, or simply smoothed into place, and Joshua examines the design with a critical eye, running his fingers over the material and scrutinizing the hems.

Neku has no idea why the pale-haired boy inspects the apparel so thoroughly, or what he's looking for per se, but he can always tell by Joshua's final expression which pile the jacket is destined for. If the ensemble passes whatever shopping criteria the boy seems to follow religiously, a grin spreads across his lips and he removes the dress-coat , folding it carefully atop the other articles of clothing he has decided are worthy of purchase. More often though, Joshua's brow wrinkles in distaste, his teeth worry at his bottom lip, and he quickly tugs the garment from his body, as if it has greatly offended his figure. He then throws the insulting item of clothing into the HC pile and it is quickly lost beneath the avalanche of multi-colored fabric, never to be seen again.

Some of these rejects Joshua casts off with a sigh, reluctantly peeling decorative sleeves away from his arms and gazing remorsefully at the overdone attire. His eyes flicker towards Neku, and he exhales forlornly once again for dramatic effect. "If only," he says each time, "it's so lovely, but it would never suit me." Then he sadly tosses the limp jacket onto the HC pile and stares dejectedly at the pristine cuffs for moment, only to giggle seconds later and dive into the next ensemble.

And so the pattern repeats.

Neku rolls his eyes exasperatedly toward the heavens, which are currently not the heavens at all, but a brightly colored ceiling and a near-blinding fluorescent light bulb, so the orange-haired youth lowers his gaze immediately, blinking rapidly to clear the spots from his vision. Truly though, he cannot understand the purpose of Joshua's shopping ventures, for all of the clothing appears identical to Neku. He watches his fair-haired friend slip in and out of an endless stream of jackets, bare shoulders – hardly hidden by the navy tank-top - revealed each time the newest apparel is thrown into one of two piles, and the blue-eyed teen can't help but think that Joshua looks equally striking in every outfit he tries on.

Rubbing absentmindedly at a smear of cerulean paint on his wrist- left over from that morning's artistic ventures, Neku considers his friend's image in the full-length mirror on the opposite wall. He longs to reach for his bag which lies lonesome but not forgotten on the grey carpeted floor at his feet, and fumble between the zippered folds until pencil and paper once more rest comfortably in his hands. Eyes unable to turn from the flawless reflection, Neku's fingers twitch unconsciously in practiced, deft movements against his thigh, sketching an unseen illustration into one loose leg of his ill-fitting shorts.

The orange-haired teen would be lying if he said that he hadn't sketched his friend more than once in the long month since he first became intimately acquainted with each clothed line of Joshua's form. Because Neku had – guiltily and unintentionally of course, but still he found the pages of his sketchbook gradually filling and in time overflowing with half-finished charcoal and ink renderings of his single friend. In the upper corner of his lecture notes, and around the edges of his incomplete homework, his fingers would instinctively map out a familiar smile, mirthful eyes, or graceful curls. Neku had never been so intrigued, so absolutely absorbed with a particular subject; normally he would notice an interesting or beautiful physical attribute in a passerby and sketch them rapidly, only to be distracted by yet another feature moments later and move on.

But something about Joshua had forced this never-ending cycle into a shuddering halt. As Neku watches Joshua meticulously fold a cropped indigo jacket before reaching out for the next, he attempts to find the source of the disturbance, and, built upon a month's worth of consideration, gradually realization dawns.

Falsity. Joshua adds layer after obstructive layer but never removes a single one, hiding himself from view. Neku cannot draw him properly, because the part of the flaxen-haired boy he actually knows- the part he understands, barely skims the surface of Joshua's being.

And that's why something terribly wrong lurks within each fervently sketched image and plagues Neku's thoughts, for none of his drawings, as faultlessly executed as they may be, are capable of capturing Joshua as a whole or containing even a hint of his essence.

Neku's fingers curl in frustration, bunching the fabric against his thighs. Never has the orange-haired teen known how to ask questions or express himself suitably, and so he struggles wordlessly, gaze fixed on his blissfully unaware friend. He wants to request that Joshua expose himself, uncover and reveal each reality Neku can sense but never decipher- if only so the orange-haired teen might draw a more genuine depiction of those unreadable eyes. However, he glances up and reddens furiously at the thought, now- in a dressing room is not an appropriate moment to demand of another to "expose" himself, so Neku merely shuffles his feet while his fingers trace unsatisfying lines against his knee.

But for the first time, Neku's unspoken wish is answered.

As the orange-haired teen lifts his cobalt gaze from his lap and once more fixes his eyes on Joshua, his friend struggles to pull a cropped vest up over his dusky blonde curls. But the navy tank top clings and refuses to be parted from the jacket's silken surface and after a few seconds of pointless wriggling, Joshua surrenders to the shirt's obstinacy and drags both the fitted jacket and the dark blue shirt over his head.

And as pearl-white skin is gradually revealed from beneath faded navy cloth, Neku comes face-to-face with Joshua's secrets and catches a glimpse –if only for a brief moment- of his core.

Marring the delicate skin of Joshua's back are two parallel scars etched along the length of his shoulder blades, and Neku watches in fascination as the ridged lines stretch and flex when his friend begins to fold the jacket in his arms. Once more, Neku finds himself pondering the possibility of Joshua's divinity, for the matching scars conjure an unshakable image of vast wings being ripped away from a cowering angelic youth.

Swallowing thickly, Neku makes as if to stand, but falls back the instant he attempts to rise, forcing himself not to be tempted to touch – because he's never felt the heat of another's bare flesh. And although he can't say for sure, since he's never been so close to anyone, Neku is fairly certain it's not natural to want to run his fingers across his friend's uncovered scars.

"What is that?" Neku says softly when he can manage to draw breath.

The other boy turns, his violet eyes cheery and curious. "What is wha…?"

The smile slowly dies from Joshua's lips as he catches sight of the twin scars that have captured Neku's interest in the full-length reflective glass.

Fleeting grief echoes in Joshua's eyes, but Neku has no chance to consider the emotion – so unsuited for the boy's usually cheerful face- because his friend spins away, facing the opposite mirror, his head ducked low, silver-gold curls obscuring his features.

Neku is again greeted with two taunting scars, but only for a mere moment before Joshua pulls his navy tank top back over his head and hides his secrets once more from view.

"I-I'm sorry that was …" Neku stutters out, uncertain as to whether he has inadvertently treaded too far. "Just those scars…they look pretty severe.."

Joshua remains motionless for long moment, seeming to inspect the tips of his thin fingers beneath a shade of flaxen waves.

Neku shifts nervously, wondering anxiously if he has crossed some unseen line, fearing he may have stepped into territory where his interference is unwished for. He wouldn't know, for Joshua is just about the only person Neku has held decent conversation with in years, and as such the orange-haired teen is unaccustomed to society's comfortable boundaries which dictate each impersonal and routine exchange.

Just as Neku's apprehension reaches boiling point and he starts to consider whether he should extend further apology or simply leave the abruptly stifling dressing room, Joshua's hand moves. Long fingers glide upward and over sharp shoulders before the flaxen-haired boy delves further, prodding at a point barely above the protruding outline of his shoulder blade, where the scar begins - where, at some time Joshua's flesh had split and painstakingly knitted itself back together.

Joshua half-turns and now Neku can see his profile, although golden-gray hair still conceals violet eyes. A sad smile curves the boy's lips, and his fingers sink below the pinched neckline of the tank top and dance across his skin wonderingly, as if he had entirely forgotten the scar's existence and is both astounded and horrified by its presence.

"Josh…" Neku says, wanting above all else to erase that faltering smile – that fake smirk that is _not _Joshua.

The other boy's chin snaps up at the sound of his name, his dazed eyes falling on Neku, and light curls bouncing merrily against his jaw. Joshua grins, but it does not quite reach his eyes, which are frozen in some far-off realm he alone can see.

"It's a memory," he says, and leaves the explanation at that, gathering a bundle of clothing into his arms and striding out of the room.

Neku soaks in the sudden silence, brows furrowing in confusion before he snatches his bag off the floor and follows after his friend, the dressing room door slamming hollowly behind him.

Nudging fellow disgruntled looking shoppers out of his way, and hardly acknowledging the grumbled curses that pursue him as he plows through the store's crowded interior, the blue-eyed teen finally overtakes his friend at the counter.

Hovering fretfully at Joshua's shoulder, Neku watches the transaction, his cobalt eyes flitting back and forth between the petite young woman behind the counter and his friend. Joshua appears casual enough, shoulders slouched and relaxed, a smile pasted in place, but his eyes are detached and cold, and his graceful fingers edgily twirl a single pale curl.

The cashier nods between the two boys and smirks knowingly, and Neku thinks that under normal circumstances Joshua would have winked at her or initiated some form of light-hearted banter. But his violet eyes are distant, and still swathed in that glazed fog, seeming to stare beyond the prim young woman and hardly recognize her presence at all. Twice, Joshua tries to force the wrong amount of money into the cashier's hands, and, seeing a line begin to form behind them, Neku knocks his friend's hopeless fingers aside and makes the payment himself.

Joshua reaches for his purchases, grasping the twine handles so tightly that his knuckles noticeably whiten. Still with that far-off gaze, the silver-blond youth murmurs an unsteady goodbye to Neku and shuffles away from the counter, his free hand grasping clothing racks as he walks by, and he pauses for a moment beside each and seems to regain balance or will before propelling himself forward once more. He hobbles out of the store alone, not once glancing back.

After a lengthy second in which Neku does nothing more than stare in slack-jawed disbelief at the sliding glass doors marking both the store's entrance and exit, the orange-haired boy jogs after Joshua, pausing courteously for an instant to allow a teenage couple to pass him into the building.

He looks for Joshua once he reaches the paved sidewalk, lifting a hand to shade his eyes from the streaking rays of sunlight as he surveys the crowd before him and wonders at the abrupt change in his friend's mood. Neku spots Joshua almost immediately, for the boy has not gone far, and rests against the 104 building's expansive exterior, a hand shielding his eyes and his hair a wild disarray in the breeze.

Following the flashes of white-gold tresses, Neku makes his way through the bustling street, and as he nears his friend's hunched form, the orange-haired teen calls out his name.

But Joshua either ignores Neku's cry or cannot hear it above the din of the city, and he does not raise his head.

And suddenly Neku finds himself faced with a daunting choice – to reach out or to leave well enough alone. He knows this decision is crucial, even if he does not understand the full extent of _why_.

It has always been Neku's nature to withdraw from society and those who surround him, to enclose himself within the undisturbed familiarity of his own thoughts and seek silence rather than conflict. Because it is easy. Easier than trying to read others' expressions and gauge their reactions while all along risking offense. People lie so readily with their lips, but their eyes tell a different tale, and Neku cannot begin to decipher the incongruence. So he has adopted a policy of retreating when he is reached for and never extending an open-palmed hand in entreaty himself. It is not how he was born, but how he has been shaped by the world's deft hands.

This is the reason for Neku's hesitation, standing merely a meter from his friend, their silhouettes marking the sidewalk in disjointed angles. His mind, and his entire physical form revert to his instinct, and so he falls motionless as stone, with no strength to fight the whims of his past dispositions. But a sullen beat awakes, and lights within his chest a new path, laying before him an honest choice which simplifies the matter and slashes through to its foundation. Does he want to be a part of Joshua's life, or not?

The decision stands here- to reach out willingly for the first time and make himself known, to allow another to break through his fortification of taciturn withdrawal and share both gloom and glory; or - to step back and walk silently away as he normally would, and scurry into the mess of dark alleys, endless streams of color, and lonely melodies.

It's a senseless choice truly, and hardly sparing more than a moment's hesitation, Neku lunges forward and catches Joshua's wrist.

The boy jolts in surprise, but he does not turn or attempt to shake off Neku's loose grip.

Sighing in relief at this mild acceptance, Neku speaks calmly to Joshua's back, his sapphire eyes following the dainty curve of his friend's neck down to where it meets spine and slips below the wide collar of the navy tank top. "You're my friend, Josh… I want to know you."

Joshua's shoulders shiver slightly, for the season is still too early and the winds far too violent for a sleeveless shirt to fend off the chill touch of spring air.

Neku too is beginning to feel the slight sting of the breeze against his shins which are left bare and defenseless beneath his shorts, so it's with more intent than one that the blue-eyed teen turns Joshua around and pulls him into a slightly awkward one-armed hug. Awkward because this is the closest physical contact Neku has voluntarily partaken in since he was ten years old, and he is thoroughly unprepared for the warmth of Joshua's body and the overwhelming empathy that unexpectedly passes between them.

"Show me all of your scars," Neku whispers sincerely, because he wants to- he wants to become acquainted with Joshua on all levels and at last understand and be understood.

And then Joshua is falling forward, and he presses his face against the slope of Neku's shoulder, his arms wrapping around the orange-haired boy's small waist.

Neku breathes deeply, his hands quivering slightly, for he is not at all properly equipped to handle this type of situation, and he struggles to choke down each instinct that roils and convulses in rage, begging to be released. But again, after only a moment of indecision, he wraps his other arm around Joshua's shoulders and draws him even closer.

He ignores the curious stares of passersby who flock to-and-fro on the sidewalk; it's not like he ever gave a damn what they presumed anyway- and all he can think about now is Joshua's firm yet slender frame enveloped in his arms, and how he can feel the steady rise and fall of his friend's chest.

As the seconds pass, short but unforgettable, he comes to realize that maybe- just maybe- closeness is not such a bad thing after all.

Neku rests his chin on top of Joshua's pale hair, but the act of tenderness is somewhat difficult since the violet-eyed boy is the taller of the two by a fair margin. Unperturbed, Neku shifts Joshua against his chest and presses his cheek once more into wondrously soft platinum waves, allowing his eyes to drift closed for a fleeting moment. He inhales slowly, taking in the lingering scent of what seems to be coffee and chocolate amidst the fragile wisps of silvery blonde. Despite himself, Neku finds a soft smile curving the corners of his lips, and he wonders absently how much time Joshua spends with Mr. H in WildKat Café every day, for certainly it must be a long while if the boy leaves carrying the establishment's scent.

Carefully avoiding the places he remembered the scars being, Neku strokes his fingers consolingly against Joshua's back. And regardless of Neku's earlier doubts, it seems like a natural thing to do- standing there in the center of a bustling sidewalk, seeking and finding much needed comfort in each other's embrace.

Neku fights the urge to run his fingertips through Joshua's silky curls, thinking that might overstep the boundary of friendship, but he isn't sure, because he's never had a friend, so he tentatively buries his fingers into the soft strands, and tugs his friend slightly closer.

And then Neku feels something wet against his collar bone, and he glances down in surprise and horror.

"Joshua are you… crying?" he asks timidly, attempting to pull the light-haired boy's face away from his chest, shocked by how poignant his own concern is.

But what Neku doesn't know- what he cannot know- is that the impulsive embrace has struck Joshua just as profoundly, because it's been years for him too since last he was held.

The flaxen-haired boy shakes his head vehemently, "can I just – just stay here for a moment?"

And Neku thinks the other boy's words must have been muffled against the front of his cotton shirt, for certainly Joshua's voice had not quivered…

Neku nods deliberately, and he moves his arms into a more relaxed position around his friend's shoulders, painfully aware that their bodies are now only separated by the slim bulk of Joshua's shopping bags. The cardboard bases knock tauntingly against his knees, mocking his weakness- his inability to shove aside the final obstruction and draw Joshua flush against him.

Yet even Neku, with all his social ineptitudes, knows that would surely violate the comfortable bounds of friendly acquaintance.

When Joshua pulls away, his light violet eyes are dry, but Neku can detect the mild redness that was not there before, and he can feel the slight dampness that clings to his skin through the light material of his shirt.

"Joshua," Neku says, glancing at the confirmation of fallen tears marking the deep purple cloth.

"I'm fine now, really- just took an unexpected walk down memory lane." He swipes his delicate fingertips beneath his eyes, as if to smooth away any lingering evidence of frailty. Then Joshua smiles, and this time his violet eyes dance with true cheer, and Neku's heart at last peacefully ceases pounding in his throat, and returns still and calm to his chest.

He believes Joshua is all the more beautiful now- now that Neku can clearly see something real exists beneath the outwardly untroubled surface. Joshua is all the braver for it, gritting back his hurt, his pain each day and greeting the world with a grin. He lives for others – that is certain, and heartrendingly so.

Extracting himself gradually, almost – dare Neku say- reluctantly from the embrace, Joshua paces gracefully a few steps away from the 104 building, hips swaying slightly.

He glances back to make sure Neku is going to follow, and the orange-haired boy does, reaching out to take one of Joshua's bags- to halve the weight and share the burden.

* * *

**AN: **Sorry for the wait! Schoolwork is really kicking my ass right now, but I'm pretty much done with the next two chapters and can **hopefully **upload them this weekend.

Also, it appears that I have lied, for these most recent "months" are turning out longer than I initially planned, so chapters will most likely only cover one month, maybe two, from here on.

Reviews are greatly appreciated!


	4. April, May

**AN: **I deeply apologize for my long absence; the end of the year is always rough. On another note, upon reviewing the first couple chapters I noticed that the final period in several paragraphs is missing for some reason. When I have more time, I will return to those chapters and see if I can fix the issue. Thanks to all who are sticking with me! :D Enjoy!

* * *

**At the Core**

* * *

**April.**

Joshua's hands are large and strong, yet somehow manage to appear elegant and slender, with delicate wrists and long fingers that seem faultlessly fit for piano keys and the composing of graceful melodies.

Neku has the perfect chance to examine those fingers now, as they are intertwined casually with his own, and he inspects them wistfully, noticing that his skin looks tan - almost appears bronzed beside the flawless alabaster of his friend's flesh.

Next to Neku's languidly outstretched knee, the darkened screen of Joshua's metallic orange cell phone blinks, warning silently that 1 AM has come and gone. The dimly flashing digits bluntly remind Neku that in his former life of isolation he had never been out so long into the night - never watched as the sprawling tides of the city are half-heartedly tamed and calmed into a restless sleep.

But Neku hardly notices the rapidly passing time; he's too caught up in the evening- or early morning, actually- and distracted by the forlorn deep grey sky, the stars absent, hidden behind a curtain of city fog.

He finds it difficult to believe that the city he once detested so vehemently for its ignorance can appear so idyllically beautiful under the cover of night, lit by its own unique latticework of stars: lines of tinted streetlamps, flares of taxi turn signals, and the glinting dance of all these flickering lights as they are reflected off high-rise buildings and amplified in the vast night sky. Somehow, Neku had overlooked the simplistic splendor of the world around him.

He is satisfied, not at all put off by the dull heavens or the lateness of the hour, and content to stay seated on the concrete rooftop and gaze at the twinkling city lights instead of the smudged out stars. Leaning back, Neku bumps his shoulder purposefully but gently against his friend's, secure in the momentary warmth that passes between them and the feeling of Joshua curling their fingers together more resolutely in response, his long fingers practically engulfing Neku's paint and charcoal-stained hands.

This interaction was common as of late, neither teenager truly noticing the gradual change until they found themselves twining their fingers together easily, as if they had been doing so for years.

The wordless communication had begun simply, only days after Neku first reached out for Joshua. Both boys had been carelessly enjoying a blithe afternoon outdoors, lounging together on Joshua's customary bench just out of reach of the shadow cast by WildKat's expansive awning. The pale-haired boy had recounted the story of Mr. H.'s misfortunes that morning, when removing a semi-frozen bottle of whipped cream from the fridge the older man's hand had slipped and the canister had all but exploded against the tiled floor. Neku dissolved into unrestrained laughter at the description of an irritated Mr. H. with whipped cream dripping from his dark shades and trim vest.

Laughing softly as well, though seemingly more out of wonder at Neku's openness, Joshua slid slightly closer, breeching the comfortable gap of general acquaintance, and knocked his knee lightly against Neku's thigh.

The orange-haired boy had glanced up in surprise and mild apprehension, but he did not flinch away as he once would have, even when his friend reached for his hand which rested limply in the neutral land between them.

Joshua was still smiling, but while his violet eyes were cheery, they had also adopted a seriousness that had not been noticeable moments before, and it seemed almost as if the fair-haired teen was concentrating with every fiber of his being as he began to trace smooth fingertips over Neku's hand.

The blue-eyed boy dazedly watched his friend carve invisible lines across his bony knuckles down to his paint encrusted fingertips, but after only a few seconds more of the faint touch, Neku had flipped his hand over and captured Joshua's fingers with his own.

And as weeks passed sluggishly by, the contact had become routine and effortlessly familiar. Neku, who not so long ago was cynical and withdrawn, now relaxes easily against Joshua's side, his thumb sketching mindless patterns across his friend's palm while they both wordlessly watch the night sky that seems to expand and molt darkened pigments before their eyes.

* * *

**May.**

This situation is not Neku's fault, really. Because two hours does not allow for enough time to sleep - to replenish after a day of wandering amongst tiresome people who speak too much on subjects that matter little.

And Joshua is bored, that is the key.

Joshua is bored, so he takes to nagging a disgruntled looking Mr. H, straddling a bar stool in the unlucky man's café.

Neku has long since decided to have no part in the proceedings, and upon entry into the cozy shop, he took up residence across the room from the counter, seated comfortably on the chipped tile flooring with his legs sprawling and sketchbook propped up in his lap. For the most part he ignores the other two and the smattering of early-morning customers, not out of any form of spite, but because Joshua's pleasant chatter and Mr. H.'s grumbled responses had gradually morphed into a comfortable backdrop for Neku's musings.

So he pensively sketches away with the remaining stub of a purple crayon he had discovered beside the check register days before. Of course, he restrains himself from drawing his friend whilst in the other boy's presence, unsure as to the reaction he would receive, and the sketchpad of unfinished Joshua-related illustrations is fitted snuggly in the space beneath his mattress at home, concealed from the prying eyes of his mother. Neku's drawing today depicts the stocky customer seated to his left; however, in the pastel rendering the man's fist is clenched around a lengthy and ornate saber instead of a steaming cup of chai.

And, as has become commonplace, Neku's wandering thoughts are abruptly derailed by a sudden exclamation from Joshua which manages to break through the blue-eyed boy's reverie.

"Mr. H! I know someone just as talented as you!"

Neku glances up, surprised to find that his heart drums loudly as his eyes meet Joshua's and the other boy winks slyly.

"Maybe even _more_ so," the lively white-blond youth adds as an obscure afterthought.

Mr. H merely blinks indolently at Joshua, continuing to mop the tiled flooring. "Yeah? Who's that, kid?" he queries indulgently.

"Neku! Our little dear is quite the artist Mr. H!"

Then, to prove his point, Joshua swings his trim legs gracefully over the bar stool and practically prances to Neku's side, sliding over the newly washed tiles with adept ease, his fingers outstretched and demanding.

And, with his lack of sleep and general exhaustion from the tedious week of school, Neku is in no state to refuse- too tired to push his friend away firmly, so he offers up his sketchbook in mute compliance.

Joshua smirks in triumph and gives Neku a long admiring look which leaves the poor boy blushing to the roots of his vibrant orange hair as his friend returns to Mr. H.'s side, taps the older man's shoulder unnecessarily, and jauntily presents the weathered notebook.

Now, seemingly against his will, Mr. H's curiosity is struck and, after leaning the bedraggled mop up against the excessively polished counter, he takes the book into his large calloused hands and flips through the loosely bound pages. And with each turn, each crisp rustle as yet another drawing is revealed, the older man's eyes grow steadily wider behind his tinted lenses.

His warm gaze flicks up to meet Neku's covered one. "You drew all these?"

Neku nods shortly, and Joshua grins like a proud parent, humming smugly to himself.

Mr. H runs his fingers through his dark hair, expression considering, before glancing sheepishly at Neku once more.

"You any good at painting, kid?" he inquires.

Neku shrugs modestly, "I'm alright," he says.

The Cafe's Owner eyes him for a moment, fingers settling on his chin in thought.

"I've wanted to paint a small mural on the side of WildKat," he finally says. "But I haven't had the time with all the business around here. I think you'd do a fine job though, and I'd be sure to pay you for the work." He smirks craftily at Neku. "Plus it'll keep Joshua off my ass for a while."

Fighting down a grin, Joshua pouts playfully and perches once more on the wooden barstool, his dark wash jean-clad legs swinging childishly.

Neku can't help but smirk. He quite likes Mr. H for his kindness, not only to him, but to Joshua as well. Neku isn't certain of their relationship or how far back their pasts tangle, but he knows that Joshua's eyes always become calmer, his stance more relaxed, and his smile exponentially brighter every time they walk through WildKat's doors.

Once, when Neku had decided to skip out on school at lunch and therefore arrived early at the café, he had paused at one of the shop's small square windows and spotted Mr. H. and Joshua seated at the counter, an array of papers spread out before them. The silver-blond boy's brow had been creased in concentration, while the older man studied whatever assignment Joshua looked to be struggling with; it appeared that Mr. H. was helping Joshua with school work. Neku had wondered idly why Joshua never seemed to actually be _in_ school, but that thought was pushed aside as he watched Joshua finish whatever he had been so adamantly toiling over and glance up to await Mr. H.'s approval. The shopkeeper's lips curled upwards, eyes glinting momentarily with a fierce pride, and he wrapped a single arm around Joshua's shoulders before patting the younger boy soundly on the back and moving towards the check register. Joshua beamed, practically bouncing out of his seat with elation, and Neku couldn't help the small smile that graced his own lips at the sight. They were almost like family.

Least to say, Neku likes Mr. H.; not to mention he owes the shopkeeper for all the free of charge snacks and drinks Joshua had badgered the man into handing over.

And thus Neku finds himself shaking hands in a conventional display of agreement with the older man, promising to begin sketching possible designs immediately, and decisively refusing any form of payment.

Mr. H was delighted by Neku's acceptance, and hurriedly sent Joshua sprinting off towards the storage room to gather the paint and supplies that would be available for Neku's use.

When Joshua returned, his arms were laden with crisp canvas bags overflowing with various artistic paraphernalia, and his eyes were gleaming, almost churning with excitement.

"This is going to be fun, Neku!" he calls out gleefully, heading for the exit.

As Neku follows his fair-haired friend out of the Cafe's front door, someone snags his sleeve, and he is momentarily pulled aside by a concerned looking Mr. H.

"Whatever you do," the man says, barely a whisper. "Don't let that kid touch the paint or, for that matter, anything having to do with the exterior decorating of my establishment."

Neku nods in understanding.

….

As Mr. H. only requested a small mural, and had quickly agreed to Neku's prospective design, the orange-haired teen is almost certain he can complete the painting in a solid day's work.

Unfortunately, for Mr. H at least, Neku doesn't have the heart to tell Joshua he cannot participate, not when the boy is giddily babbling, laying out paintbrushes side by side, and picking out his favorite hues from the canvas bags.

"Neku," Joshua sing-songs as he slips into the oversized t-shirt Neku has loaned him from his own stash of art supplies in his black book bag. The frayed and already paint-stained hem hangs halfway down to Joshua's knees, and the violet-eyed boy is forced to roll up the sleeves that hang loosely at his elbows. It's strange- Neku cannot remember the paint-smeared smock ever looking so beguiling before.

"Hello? Earth to Neku?"

Neku snaps to attention, dragging his eyes away from Joshua's fingers which toy so tantalizingly with the unraveling cloth. "Yeah?"

"You're going to need some black and indigo for the fur, right?" He points to two partially filled bottles.

Nodding his assent, Neku turns to the task of sketching out his design's preliminary lines with a fresh cylinder of chalk Mr. H had provided. He's decided that a jaguar- open-mouthed and claws extended- will fit the café's name most suitably. Having lived in a city his entire life though, Neku has never laid eyes upon such an animal, and thus he spent the first half-hour of their ventures searching for pictures of the wildcat on Mr. H.'s laptop and drafting the basic body structure.

All the practice has paid off, for Neku is now confident in his ability to reproduce an image of the elegant creature on the café's outer wall, and his strokes are firm and self-assured as he quickly maps out ferocious teeth and claws, angled eyes, and a graceful body.

Joshua watches in awe, sitting back on his heels and allowing Neku to work in peace.

And it remains that way- serene and silent.

Until Joshua joins in halfway through the painting process.

To begin with, all is well; the silvery-blond boy merely picks up a brush of his own and helps his friend shade the Jaguar's sleek black coat, with Neku gradually filling in details and highlights in varieties of purples, blues, and greys.

But then Neku asks for Joshua to retrieve the yellow paint from the canvas bag so he can add reflection to the beast's eyes, and the flaxen haired boy does, but he can't seem to resist the urge to dip his fingers into the bright color and smear a vibrant line across Neku's cheek.

For a moment the orange-haired teen does nothing, and simply glances up in surprise, his blue eyes widening comically as he recognizes the teasing smirk on his friend's face. Soon though, his own lips curl into a cunning smile, and Neku retaliates ten-fold, picking up the bottle of purple paint and dousing Joshua's grey-blond hair.

The violet-eyed boy looks astonished – disbelieving that he has so easily coaxed Neku out of his customary moodiness, but quickly his wicked grin returns and he arms himself with a lidless can of dark blue.

An all-out war begins: colors flying wildly, both participants careful to avoid the mural in progress, but slinging paint in seemingly carefree arcs.

The battle only ends when the two boys collapse on the tarp that has shielded the pavement from their multi-hued warfare, faces grimed and hair caked, sticking up in every direction and imitating a mass of unconcerned tints.

Laughing, and then sputtering mirthfully when breath escapes them, the boys face each other and roll elatedly on the paint-slicked tarp, despite the emerging comprehension that Mr. H. is going to flay them both for wasting materials and time.

Neku remarks on the state of Joshua's hair- which is no longer white-blonde but a curly mass of purple and scarlet- moving forward on his elbows to tug at a sodden strand, and in turn the violet-eyed boy wiggles closer and paints a lovely set of pink whiskers onto Neku's cheeks.

They are so close already that it is easy – almost seems proper- to lean farther in, and Neku does, his breath snatched away by his own daring and the beautiful lilac of Joshua's eyes.

Neku has seen kisses before; every morning over a bowl of untouched cereal he watches his mother bid his father farewell with a gentle kiss, and in the halls of his school and the winding city streets he has witnessed harsher, more passionate embraces. He has observed plenty, as most teenagers his age have, but unlike many of those others, Neku has never actually partaken in the act. For, as he has certainly not had a friend before, he most assuredly hasn't involved himself in a deeper relationship either. Not that he ever sought one, and when he witnesses such displays of affection, whether on screen or in reality, he tends to cringe and hurriedly look away, always swearing he'll never be so easily manipulated by the allures of a woman.

But Joshua isn't a woman. Neku is certain of that fact, and intrigued by the painful synching in his chest as he gazes down into his friend's bright violet eyes. And it's those eyes- which seem to both beg and challenge- that finally push the orange-haired teen into motion.

Spurred on by the rhythmic fluttering of his heart, Neku finds his courage and dares to lean all the way down and brush his lips for a fleeting yet electrifying moment against Joshua's.

Neku pulls back almost as quickly as he had initially moved in, the freshly painted pink streaks on his cheeks appearing to miraculously fade as his skin turns a similar shade.

However, the orange-haired boy seems to be far more shocked by his own actions than Joshua is. The violet-eyed teen does not move, watching Neku's flustered panic calmly, a small smile toying at his lips.

"Well," Joshua finally says, running a thumb over his lips as if he can still feel the warmth of Neku's short-lived kiss. "That was pretty bold, Neku." Violet eyes darken to indigo, shining with amusement and subtle longing.

"Yeah," Neku says, because he can think of nothing else- nothing to explain the emotion which had in the past months been steadily growing and at last seized him, urging him onward with no fear of consequences or regret.

But now those suppressed boundaries come crashing back down around him, broken and withering, and Neku knows he has severed the cord of friendship between them, and once again he is presented with a choice to advance or to retreat.

"Stop thinking so much Neku," Joshua says, leaning over his friend, so close that the lingering yellow splatters on Joshua's oversized shirt meld with the reds on Neku's and form an array of vibrant oranges. "I didn't say bold was a bad thing."

His eyes are breath-taking.

Neku's heart thunders in his ears as he makes his choice, tangling his fingers into Joshua's paint flecked tresses and pulling his friend against him.

* * *

Mr. H. hardly blinks when he sees the state of the two boy's attire four hours later when the mural is at last complete. He asks no questions, merely raises an eyebrow at Neku's furious blush and directs the pair toward the hose hanging dutifully by the rear exit.

* * *

**AN:** Unfortunately, it is likely that I will not have time to even think about this fic until AP Exams and finals are over, but I'll be back as soon as summer break begins and I am free of overwhelming schoolwork! Reviews are greatly appreciated, as always. Thank you to everyone who has been patient with my belatedness!


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